刀鋸鼎鑊
dāojùdǐnghuò
Knife, saw and cauldron
Ancient instruments of torture
*~*~*~*~*~*
Kageyama had a few more errands to attend to in the city. Sanli tagged along, as he was accustomed to doing, watching everything quietly. It reminded Kageyama of when Sanli had been a boy, and had followed him everywhere, watching Kageyama's every movement with wide-eyed interest.
Kageyama glanced to the side, where his charge rode. The Sanli riding beside him now was more indifferent, more jaded, the world around him no longer captivating him as it once had. Kageyama chuckled to himself. Only twenty odd years to lose interest in all the world had to offer. And how long had he himself been alive? Thousands of years? By that reasoning, he should have lost interest millennia ago.
The final errand of the day was to check in with one of the many information brokers Kageyama kept contact with throughout the city. Kageyama had hoped for more about the disappearances and strange murders, but the man had little to offer that Kageyama didn't already know.
"I don't know why I pay him," Kageyama scoffed as they left.
The day's business concluded, the two men wandered aimlessly, letting the horses choose their own road. Makabe led Little Light, the smaller horse happy to follow his bigger friend through the crowds. They passed people from all walks of life, the rich in their carriages and palanquins, the poor on foot, and the occasional mu'ren, blended in amongst the throng. The mu'ren's scent would tickle Kageyama's nose for just a moment, triggering his instincts with warning, before it was quickly replaced by another one of the endless smells that wafted through the city.
They passed shops, the signs around the doors decorated with carved characters and bright paint that advertised the store's name and wares. A tanner. A jeweler. A spice merchant. Kageyama and Sanli approached a shop surrounded by a crowd of young women, all dressed in shades of pretty pastels. It was a shop for women's cosmetics, outside which many young ladies had gathered, servants in tow. The young ladies chattered like birds, waiting to be served beneath large paper umbrellas in the courtyard, while their servants fanned them or held their things.
As the two men passed Sanli grinned, and several of the women tittered like the strange singing birds they resembled. Kageyama rolled his eyes and nudged Makabe faster.
The men entered a short lane that opened up into a wide plaza that was used as a marketplace. Although it was not market day today, there were still many stalls set up, most of which were selling food.
"Are you hungry?" Kageyama asked Sanli. Sanli nodded.
They stopped their horses at a stall selling roasted pork on sticks. Kageyama paid for two sticks and passed one to Sanli, without dismounting. They rode their horses toward the bay while eating.
It was a hot day. As they got closer to the water, the breeze intensified, for which Kageyama was grateful. He reached up and loosened the collar of his uniform.
There were few people near the harbor at this time of day. The busiest time in the city was early morning, when traders and vendors and couriers rushed through the city to set up for market or deliver goods from the docking ships. This late in the afternoon most of the day's business was done, and people were getting ready to return home for evening. Most of the ships had already sailed back out into bay to anchor, so as to avoid paying another day of mooring fees.
Kageyama steered Makabe around a pair of children running recklessly along the waterside, then tuned to look at the harbor. Kicked up by the wind, segments of water reflected in the late noon sun like prisms of glass that rose and then melted again into the waves. It reminded Kageyama of broken glass, or ice.
He pondered, as he often did, how one would go about capturing the beauty of such a scene, in words or painting. And this thought brought Kageyama back to a question he often mused: how to make permanent the impermanent? How to preserve the beauty of something that did not last?
Throughout his long life he had found himself returning to this question again and again, despite the fact he already knew the answer.
"What did you talk about with Zhangyu?" Sanli asked suddenly, breaking Kageyama from his musing on the waves.
Kageyama quickly feigned indifference, tearing the final piece of pork from the skewer. "Nothing interesting," he said, after swallowing.
He didn't want Sanli to know it was Zhangyu who had hired the Dashe to spy on him. The two men had been close as children, and Kageyama knew it would sadden Sanli to find out his nephew had paid an assassin to track his movements.
"Oh? Nothing interesting at all?" prodded Sanli.
Kageyama shrugged. "We talked a bit about the upcoming banquet. He reminded me to address him correctly." Sanli snorted, sounding like Little Light. "He's just angry because I refused to become his yah'ying when he asked me last year."
"And why didn't you?" Sanli asked, staring down at his own meat, which was less than half eaten.
"That boy is too ambitious by half. He'd get me mixed up in all sorts of things I'd rather not." Kageyama briefly debated flicking his now bare meat skewer into the bay, then decided that would be irresponsible and tucked it into his saddle bag.
"Oh? And how do you know I'm not ambitious?" asked Sanli, turning laughing eyes toward his mentor.
"Hah!" returned Kageyama. "Your only ambition is to seduce every pretty woman this side of the kingdom. And I'm sure you'll achieve your goal without my help."
"Sho Sensei, your low estimation of me hurts," Sanli said, mock pouting.
"Stop making that horrible face and finish your meat so we can go home."
*~*~*~*~*~*
By the time the two men returned to Chuanfang it was evening.
They made their way up the slope into the courtyard, the sky changing from orange to dark blue overhead.
Kageyama was tired. He had not slept well the night before, having spent much time turning over the implications of the Dashe's presence at Zhangyu's side. After they entered the building Kageyama summoned a servant and told them to bring some food and his favorite wine to his quarters.
Kageyama and Sanli separated outside Sanli's door and Kageyama walked further down the hall to where his own rooms were situated. He slid open the door, greeted with the sight of a large empty room.
In contrast with Sanli's rooms, filled to bursting with books and other items, Kageyama's had only a single hanging scroll in an alcove in one corner. On the scroll itself was painted leaves of bamboo entangled with a blossoming plum branch, both stretching toward an impossibly full moon.
Outside, the real moon had just risen, cresting the horizon, and shining through the open sliding doors. Kageyama's rooms were modeled after the style that was popular in Wa, and he removed his slippers as he entered, enjoying the feel of the woven grass mats. Tatami they were called, and they were cool beneath his feet. Kageyama loved the smell of them. They smelled like home.
The kitsune went to one wall that was made completely of sliding doors that opened up onto his store room. This room, unlike the one next to it, was filled with items Kageyama had collected over the years. Kageyama went to a wooden chest and pulled out a loose cotton robe, a men's yukata, exchanging it for his stiff military uniform.
After changing, Kageyama grabbed his instrument, a three string shamisen, and went to the veranda.
He settled himself comfortably on a cushion, propping his back against the doorframe. Then he took the large plectrum and began to slowly strum the strings. Since he had been gone for several months, it had been a while since he had played, and he had to tune the instrument.
Even once he had twisted the strings to appropriate tautness, the sounds still twanged disconchordantly. That was the beauty of the shamisen. It didn't sound as it should.
While admiring the twilight over the ocean, Kageyama played a simple, slow song. He thought back to the competition between Ao and Sanli in the bar that night in Nan'ye, the frantic race of their fingers. Hah. Real skill was not in speed. Real skill, and pleasure, was found in the slow, languid precision of carefully planned and anticipated notes. Every strum, every chord, chaos controlled.
Kageyama's playing, the lazy metallic twangs, echoed out across the evening waves.
Finally, just as Kageyama was wondering what had become of the servant he had sent to fetch his dinner, the door to his quarters slid open and the servant stepped inside, hurriedly kneeling on the mats.
"Well?" said Kageyama, turning on the veranda to look back through the open doors.
"I have brought your meal, but... forgive this humble soul, Lord Kageyama. It seems Lady Yunyou has just drunk the last bottle of your Well Cloud Wine."
Kageyama carefully placed his shamisen to one side. "The whole bottle? And what about the other bottles?"
"She...she drank those as well."
There was a pause, while Kageyama considered whether it was worth giving in to the anger bubbling up in him. It was after all, just wine, and he had more at the palace.
But then, all the events of the day came back to him. It had not been a good day. And he had so been looking forward to the wine.
His anger bubbled over, like a boiling pot.
"WHERE IS SHE?!"
*~*~*~*~*~*
Not long after, Kageyama kicked Makabe into canter and rode from the courtyard toward the city. He crossed the causeway, the moon reflecting on the water on either side, the waves calmer now that the wind had died with night.
When Kageyama reached the main road and the shadowed darkness beneath the trees he reigned Makabe to a walk. Around him the night air cooled, as did his temper.
Kageyama had left not so much with the intention to get more wine, as to simply get away from Chuanfang. And that girl. The ferocity of his anger had surprised even him. He hadn't gotten that angry in years. He didn't know what it was about Ao, but for some reason, she was able to irritate him to a degree others could not.
You know— the voice in his heart accused. It's because she reminds you of—
Absolutely not.
Now that Kageyama had left, he felt foolish going as far as the palace just for wine. He thought to go to an inn, but this time of night the inns would be busy, and after a tiring day he was craving solitude.
So Kageyama instead meandered aimlessly through the dark streets of Zhanghai, letting Makabe choose their path. He passed few people. A group of drunken men, a farmer on a cart urging his oxen home, a couple secluded in the darkness of a doorway who made sounds not quite human.
Above, the night sky was bright with silver clouds that skidded across it, illuminated by the moon.
Kageyama did his best to avoid people, choosing dark streets and deserted alleys. He delighted in the isolation night brought. During the day, the city seethed, humans and mu'ren and animals all pouring in and out of Zhanghai's streets like sweat from its pores. But at night the city slept, and creatures like him could roam at ease.
Before he knew it he and Makabe had wandered to the edges of the western district of Zhanghai. Here the city was built more firmly on land, and the canals that networked the seaside part of the city were gone. The streets were more regular and better planned out, long straight blocks with an equal number of buildings on each side.
The image of the circled map Kageyama had seen today in Zhangyu's office flashed through his mind. The building he had seen circled was not far from here, he realized. He might as well do something useful now he was here.
Kageyama had changed from his yukata before leaving Chuanfang, to darkly dyed commoner's clothes, and a scarf was tied around his waist. He removed the scarf from his waist and wrapped it loosely around his head to conceal his face, then kicked Makabe into trot.
Kageyama dismounted a few streets over from his goal and left Makabe in a narrow, blind alley out of sight. People here were scarcer than in the rest of the city, and many of the buildings looked deserted. Even if someone did stumble upon the stallion, the obstinately loyal horse refused to let anyone ride him besides Kageyama. Several had tried, and all had ended up with varying degrees of injury.
Kageyama decided the best way to approach the building was from above. He leapt, higher than most humans, hooking his fingertips onto a nearby windowsill. He pulled himself up, using only his arms, and then did the same thing to get to the story above. Finally, from the second windowsill, he leapt up, grasping the edge of the roof, and pulled himself up and onto it.
There was a bang in the alley below him. He looked down. Makabe had turned over a nearby crate, and was rooting around in it, pulling out table scraps that caught his attention.
"Don't eat that," Kageyama hissed. The horse ignored him.
Sighing, Kageyama tucked the scarf more carefully about his face, then turned and made his way quietly, carefully, across the roofs, sticking to the ridges where the support beams were likely to be the strongest.
The buildings were close together, and Kageyama could practically walk across the roofs without trouble. In only one place did he have to leap, over a narrow alley, similar to the one he had just left Makabe in.
Only once did he have to duck, crouching low on the roof as a night watchman passed, lantern swinging on its stick. A distant temple gong rang out once. It was the beginning of the rat hour.
Behind and above him, the moon shone down, the light fading out occasionally as a cloud passed across its face. When the moons light dimmed, the lights of the city around Kageyama suddenly sparkled to life like the embers of a vast fire.
Finally he arrived on the roof of the building he had seen circled today in Zhangyu's office. He knew, because he had counted the roofs as he passed over them to keep his position. Not far away the pagoda of Yellow Rock Temple rose above the rooftops.
Kageyama pressed his ear to the cold stone shingles of the roof. No sound. He lowered himself to the single, dirty window of the second story. Easing the window open, he slipped inside.
Inside a storage room waited for him. Crates and boxes were stacked everywhere. Kageyama crouched, silent, and counted the seconds. One of the most common mistakes was moving too soon, without waiting to see if anyone was in the house, and had heard you. The key was to outwait them.
While he waited, he smelled the air. Dust, old wood, molding cloth. And, the smell of dry, dead leaves hanging over everything.
After ten minutes Kageyama stood and began to search through the boxes quietly. Jars of herbs, a few books. Nick nacks and other keepsakes and tools an apothecary might have. Nothing particularly interesting.
He heard a sound from downstairs.
So faint, at first he thought it was just the creak of the old wooden building around him. Then it came again, and again.
Kageyama crouched behind a crate and reached out, grasping the air. He thought of the blade he wanted, imagining the feel and weight of it in his hand. Without fanfare or announcement, his knife appeared, settling comfortably in his palm.
The blade was short, no longer than his index finger. The metal was dark with disuse, but the quality of the blade was still apparent to the trained eye. The hilt was wrapped with old leather, and on the blade three small characters were inscribed. 詞同水. Shidousui. Words-like-water.
Just like Tenzetsuto, the knife Kageyama now held was not simply a piece of steel. Kageyama rarely had use for the blade. He tried to recall the last time he had put the knife to purpose, and a shadowy memory resurfaced.
Kageyama entered the tent, letting the flap fall closed behind him. His target knelt on the ground before him, bloody and bound to the tent pole. Kageyama's captain had reported that all 'traditional' methods of extraction has failed, so Kageyama had agreed to step in.
The man looked up. His face had become so hideously disfigured he was hardly recognizable as the spy they had caught hours earlier outside their camp.
Kageyama crouched to bring himself to the man's eye level. As he did so, his long officer's cloak pooled on the ground behind him. The spy caught sight of the cloak, and Kageyama's fine armor, and put two and two together.
The man chuckled, a wet rasping that did not sound human. "And the great kitsune himself has come forth at last. What have I done to deserve this honor?"
Kageyama pulled Shidousui from the air, idly worrying the blade between his fingers. "Specifically? You have resisted my torturers for hours."
The spy saw the small blade and laughed harder, blood flying from his burst lips. "And what do you hope to accomplish with that little knife? Send the other fellows back in here, I was starting to enjoy their company."
Kageyama ignored the man's bravado, instead holding up the knife between them. "This is Shidousui. Words-like-water. Do you know what it does?"
The spy looked at him warily. Kageyama shook his head. "Don't worry, no more pain is before you."
Kageyama leaned forward, and the spy stilled as the cool steel of the knife pressed against his neck. "All I have to do is lay this blade against your skin and you cannot tell a lie. If I cut you, in answer to my questions, words will flow from your mouth like water. And if I drive this knife through your heart, your deepest darkest truths, the ones you hide from even your own mind, will come pouring out."
Kageyama drew the knife slowly against the man's shivering neck, creating the shallowest of cuts, though he could have taken the blood from any of his other injuries. Then he held the knife aloft to check. The spy's blood shone on the blade, glossy red in the torchlight.
Kageyama began his questions.
When he had the information he wanted he stood. As he left the tent, the spy, who sagged, bloody and defeated, against his bonds, asked, "Why did you not do that from the start?"
The spy's voice was empty, hopeless. He knew what was left for him now he had surrendered the information his enemies wanted.
Kageyama turned back, looking down at the man without emotion.
"You are my enemy. Why should I spare you pain?" Then he left, letting the tent flap swing back into place behind him.
Another sound came from downstairs, and Kageyama came back from his past.
He tucked Shidousui into one sleeve, the blade cool against his skin. There had not been much up here. Perhaps he would get some answers from whoever was downstairs.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Art by JacksonSarber . Thank you! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️